


The Heart Wants

by GillianInOz



Series: The Heart Wants [1]
Category: Endeavour
Genre: Episode 3:01 Ride, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 18:06:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillianInOz/pseuds/GillianInOz
Summary: Set in and around the episode 'Ride', Morse is determined to build a new life, not just because of the events at Blenheim Vale, but because he's hopelessly in love with DI Thursday.Or perhaps not quite hopelessly.





	The Heart Wants

**Author's Note:**

> “When the best is gone – I know that other things are not of consequence. The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care.”  
> ~ Emily Dickenson

**Chapter One - Lake Silence.**

A gentle breeze sent the clouds scudding across the midnight sky as Morse made his way down the path to the dacha that had been his home for the last month. He slowed cautiously as he noted a light inside. He knew for a fact he hadn’t left any lamps burning when he went out.

He smelled pipe smoke wafting through the open door as he approached, but instead of relaxing he tensed even more when he realised who his visitor was. He stepped inside, eyes eating up the sight of Fred Thursday sitting in his armchair. ‘How are you?’ he asked quietly, automatically noting how thin he looked, how tired. Morse’s heart ached and he looked away so Thursday couldn’t read what was in his eyes. 

‘Oh, you know.’ Thursday reached down and picked up a bottle. ‘Liver still works.’

‘How’d you find me?’ Morse accepted the bottle and poured himself a stiff drink. 

‘It’s my lung with a hole in it, not my brain.’

‘Monica,’ Morse realised.

‘She’s worried. How long you been holed up here?’

‘Since I got out.’ Morse sipped his drink, welcoming the burn in his throat. 

‘I went to your flat.’

‘They put you in hospital and tried to frame me for murder.’ Morse shrugged. ‘Couldn’t put anyone else at risk.’

‘You might tell her that.’

Morse avoided his eyes and busied himself turning on the bedside lamp. The intimacy of the dark little cabin was disturbing, and he wished it were bright daylight, wished he had the courage to walk away from this conversation. At the same time some part of him was coming back to life as it always did in Thursday’s presence. 

‘You’ve seen the findings then?’

‘The whitewash,’ Morse said bitterly.

‘What’d you expect?’

‘Better.’

‘We broke them. The worst are gone, the rest scattered to the four winds. And I’m light one bagman.’

Morse shook his head, sitting down on the end of his narrow bed. ‘Ask Jakes,’ he dismissed.

‘The situation’s not vacant,’ Thursday shot back. ‘He spoke for you. Strange too. Mr Bright. It’s over.’

‘Not for me,’ Morse said. ‘You live in the shadows long enough you forget the sunlight. I’m finished with it.’ He gulped down a mouthful of whiskey.

‘You didn’t put your papers in,’ Thursday challenged.

Morse sighed. ‘I’m not talking about the job,’ he said tiredly. He looked into Thursday’s frowning face. ‘I only came back to Oxford because of you,’ he said quietly, studying that beloved face, memorising it. ‘I stayed in the force because of you.’

‘You stayed in the force because you were born to be a detective,’ Thursday shot back. ‘We’ve got a woman disappeared off the ghost train at the fair last night, she was found dead, this morning, about three miles from here.’

Morse closed his eyes. ‘You’re not listening to me,’ he said. ‘This isn’t about the job. This is about me, living in the shadows, hiding who I am. Running from who I am.’

‘You’re a copper,’ Thursday said forcefully.

‘I’m a queer,’ Morse said, and opened his eyes again.

Thursday was frozen, his mouth half open as if the words he’d been framing had died in his throat. 

‘I’m a homosexual,’ Morse clarified. ‘I’ve been hiding in the shadows my entire adult life. And I won’t do that any more.’

‘I… I’ve seen you with women,’ Thursday said, disbelief in his voice. 

Morse shrugged. ‘Women are easy. They’re a comfort, when I’m lonely.’

‘But you can’t be queer and still be with women,’ Thursday said desperately.

Morse chuckled humourlessly. ‘You’d be surprised. You’d be surprised at how many of us out there settle for what we can get. A wife, a family, a neat little house. Starving ourselves of what we truly need, hiding from what we really are. Just to survive in your world.’

‘Don’t talk like that,’ Thursday said uneasily. ‘It’s your world too. I know queers, I’ve busted them. You’re nothing like those pathetic sods.’

‘Poor buggers driven to desperation?’ Morse said sadly. ‘Public loos and dark parks? Do you think any man would choose that if he could live in the light? Be who he was without worrying about being fired, beaten up, killed? Imprisoned not that long ago.’

Thursday took a deep drink from his glass, avoiding Morse’s gaze. ‘All the same,’ he began hoarsely, and cleared his throat. ‘All the same. That doesn’t mean you can’t do your job. Keep your private life private and come back. You’d be doing that wherever you go, wouldn’t you?’ 

Morse smiled fondly at his uncomfortable boss, love moving through him like a wave. ‘You’d have me back on the job? Knowing that about me?’

‘Course I would,’ Thursday said weakly. Then he stiffened his shoulders, his voice growing stronger. ‘Course I would. What a man does in his off hours is his own business. Long as he’s careful,’ he finished. Morse surveyed him fondly, and Thursday bravely met his eyes. ‘Course I would,’ he said again. 

‘I think,’ Morse said regretfully. ‘I think you need to listen to what I said. That I only came back to Oxford because of you,’ he said intently. ‘That I stayed in the force because of you.’

Thursday frowned at him, head tilted to one side. Something crossed his face, understanding maybe. Disbelief. Denial. He started shaking his head. ‘No,’ he said.

Morse smiled, for the first time letting everything he felt show on his face, in his eyes.

‘No,’ Thursday said again, voice flat. ‘That’s… that’s crazy.’

Morse shrugged ruefully.

‘I’m a married man,’ Thursday protested. ‘I’m twenty years older than you.’

‘What can I say?’ Morse said lightly. ‘The heart wants what it wants.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ Thursday tried one last time. ‘I mean, look at me. Look at you. What on earth would a smart, good looking young fellow like you see in…’ He shook his head firmly. ‘This is some kind of joke.’

‘Do you think I stayed with you at Blenheim Vale out of duty?’ Morse said pointedly. ‘Do you think I chose to die by your side, if that’s the way it went down, just because I respect you as a boss? _Past touch, and sight and sound,_ ’ he said gently. _‘How hopeless underground. Falls the remorseful day…_ ’

Thursday drew in a deep breath. ‘You’re serious,’ he breathed. ‘Why? Why me?’

Morse frowned. ‘Why not you? You listened to me. You supported me. You’ve always – always – been on my side. Why you? Who else but you? I love you,’ he said aloud for the first time. ‘You don’t have to approve of that. You don’t have to love me back. But you can accept it, can’t you? And try to understand?’

Thursday was shaking his head, his face growing hard. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t understand. I don’t want you to love me, it’s pointless, it’s useless. Why would you choose to love someone who can never love you back?’

‘Choose,’ Morse said, his heart aching. ‘That’s not how love works.’

‘Why do you always do everything the hard way?’ Thursday said, anguish in his voice. He stood up, thrusting his hands in his pockets, his shoulders stiff. ‘I wish you hadn’t told me,’ he said bitterly. ‘Why did you tell me? I want you to find someone, be happy, be settled, and now you tell me that can never happen?’

Morse looked down, tears prickling at his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t tell you to hurt you. I just…’ He swallowed hard. ‘I’m just tired of being ashamed of who I am, that’s all.’

Thursday breathed out harshly. ‘Don’t do that,’ he ordered. ‘I don’t want you to be ashamed. I don’t want you to be hurt. And… and loving someone like me, that can only lead to pain.’

‘It was a bit of a relief, actually,’ Morse said, still looking down. ‘I wondered if I was even capable of loving someone, of being in love. Thought I was one of those people doomed to spend their lives looking at everyone else being in love and wondering why. Why not me? What’s wrong with me?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with you,’ Thursday said roughly. ‘You just need to forget about this thing with me. Just put it out of your mind.’

‘Oh,’ Morse smiled, looking up at him through his lashes. ‘That easy, huh? Just forget that I love you. That I sat in a prison cell for weeks, not knowing if you were alive or dead, not knowing if I could have saved you if I’d just been quicker.’

Thursday stirred restlessly.

‘Regretting that I didn’t take the chance to tell you how much you meant to me. To thank you for the huge difference you made in my life.’

‘For breaking your heart,’ Thursday said gruffly. 

‘Not like you did it on purpose.’ Morse slanted him a glance. ‘Don’t be sorry I told you,’ he said. ‘Please. I don’t regret the way I feel about you, and I never will.’

Thursday stood staring at him, looking so lost, so thin and pale that Morse had to clench his fists to stop himself from going to him, wrapping his arms around him.

‘I’ve lost you, haven’t I?’ Thursday said miserably. He frowned, shrugged. ‘We’ve lost you, the force I mean.’

‘Is that what you mean?’ Morse said gently, then smiled to let him off the hook. ‘I’ll miss you too.’

‘You were the best detective I’ve ever worked with,’ Thursday said, looking him in the eye. 

Morse couldn’t help it, and really, he didn’t try and fight the urge. If this was the last time he was going to see this man, then he wanted to touch him, just once more. He held out his hand. ‘Goodbye,’ he said, fighting to keep his tears at bay. There’d be time enough for crying when he was alone again. Thursday stared at his hand and Morse wondered if he could bring himself to take it, to shake his hand now that he knew what Morse was.

Then Thursday reached out and took his hand, gripped it, shook it. Morse tried to smile, to show him he was okay, but all he could do was look, trying to remember this moment, his hand touching his beloved’s hand, his eyes gazing into Thursday’s eyes. The moment stretched, and Morse found himself stepping a little closer, his hand still firmly clasped, Thursday’s eyes still locked on his. ‘Sir?’ Morse breathed, and now Thursday’s eyes dropped to his lips, and Morse’s heart, so close to breaking a moment ago, throbbed in his chest.

‘My name is Fred,’ Thursday said huskily, and Morse moved another inch closer, in Thursday’s personal space now. Close enough to breathe in his breath as he sighed. ‘Say my name?’

‘Fred?’ Morse said wonderingly, and then he threw caution to the winds and leaned those last few inches and took Fred’s lips.

For a moment all was utter stillness, the wind in the trees, the lap of the waves on the shore, even the beating of Morse’s heart, all frozen in time. And then Fred tilted his head a fraction and parted his lips. Just the tip of his tongue stroked against the seam of Morse’s mouth, and they drew slowly apart.

‘Fred,’ Morse said again, swallowing hard as Fred licked his lips. ‘Fred,’ he sighed, and once more took the lead. Another kiss, a little deeper this time, parting his lips and clutching at Fred’s forearms as once again a shy tongue stroked his own. 

‘Christ,’ Fred said into his mouth, and Morse ruthlessly took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, glorying in the feel of hard hands gripping his hips, sliding to the small of his back, arching him closer. Suddenly Fred was taking over the kiss, bending Morse’s head back, ravaging his mouth, the fine scrape of his evening whiskers a delicious burn as he pressed kiss after kiss on his lips, the corner of his mouth, his cheek, returning to suckle Morse’s bottom lip deliciously before once more plunging deep.

Finally he buried his face in Morse’s throat as they both gasped for breath, locked together from hip to shoulder. Morse stroked Fred's back, filled with a wondering joy. This was so much more than he’d ever expected, and even if Fred pushed him away now, he’d had this, felt this, could remember this forever.

But Fred wasn’t pushing him away, his hands were sliding Morse’s dinner jacket from his shoulders. Morse dropped his arms and let it fall to the floor, then stood as if dazed when Fred tugged at his bow tie until it was loose.

Afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell, still not quite believing it was happening, Morse let Fred undo the pearl covered buttons on his dress shirt, holding his breath as Fred tugged it down his arms to join the jacket on the floor. In a moment Fred shrugged out of his own coat, and pulled loose his tie, eyes fixed on Morse’s he waited, hands lax by his side.

Morse slowly lifted his hands and began to unbutton Fred’s shirt, and yes, that’s what the older man wanted, he untucked it from his pants and let it fall. Now they stood in vest and pants, the silence of a thousand unspoken words between them, and Morse made one more toss of the dice, he reached out, took Fred’s hand and led him to the bed.

He didn’t know where this was coming from, didn’t know where it would lead, was afraid to look too deeply into Fred’s motivation, and unwilling to speak and break the spell. So he simply turned down the sheet and blankets on the bed and silently stripped off his vest as Fred unzipped his own pants and unbuckled his belt. 

Morse sat on the side of the bed and reached for Fred’s hips, leaning forward and nuzzling the soft cotton of the vest covering his belly. Perhaps Fred didn’t want Morse to see the gunshot scar, perhaps he just wasn’t comfortable taking off any more clothes, Morse found he didn’t care as he nuzzled and breathed in the scent of sweat and masculine arousal. A strong hand came to rest on one shoulder, another smoothed over his hair as Morse pressed his cheek against Fred. It didn’t matter. All that mattered were these unexpected moments out of time, that gentle hand in his hair, cupping his crown and smoothing down to the nape of his neck.

Suddenly eager for the next step, Morse tugged the vest up and kissed Fred’s belly, pulling apart the trousers, the heavy belt dragging the gap open wider. Fred’s cock was outlined behind white briefs, straining against the fabric, wet tip soaking through. Teasingly Morse pressed a hard kiss against the moisture and Fred’s hips bucked.

Carefully Morse tugged at the elastic waistband, easing it down and exposing Fred’s cock, his mouth going dry with desire. That Fred wanted him was clear, he was painfully hard, his thick cock throbbed, the red head poking through the foreskin, pre cum oozing from the slit. Morse gently worked the loose skin back and licked the broad head like an ice cream cone, tasting the bitter salt of pre-cum like it was a sweet treat. 

Fred’s hands tightened, but he didn’t try and force Morse’s head down, his fingers kneaded firmly, speared through his curls, stroked his nape. Lost in his own little world of pleasure, Morse licked again, around the engorged plum, dreamily wondering how it would feel to be penetrated by this broad shaft, to have its bluntness pressing against him, pushing inside him, buried within him to the hilt.

Gasping at the pictures in his mind, Morse took the head in his mouth and suckled, one hand cupping tightly drawn testicles, the other finding the root of Fred’s cock and pumping.

Above him Fred groaned and his hips jerked before he froze in place. Morse wanted to tell him it was all right, that he could move, but he didn’t want to take his mouth away from his prize, and was still afraid to break the silence.

So he let go cradling Fred’s balls and caught his hip in his hand, pulling him close as he sunk down onto his cock, then tugging backwards. Fred made another strained sound but he tentatively followed Morse’s lead and fucked into his mouth, moaning as Morse hummed his approval against the cock jerking against his suctioning warmth.

They found their rhythm quickly, Morse slurping and suckling, one hand pumping, Fred rocking his hips, gently but forcefully fucking Morse’s mouth. Within minutes Fred was panting hard, his hands tightening, and Morse knew he was close. Would Fred pull away? Would he let Morse swallow him down? In the end they were both taken by surprise as Fred came explosively, hips driving forward, hands momentarily holding Morse in place as he quivered and came, Morse swallowing and swallowing, cum leaking from the edges of his mouth and dribbling down.

Panting, Morse pulled away, again resting his head against Fred’s belly, hair roughened skin this time, heaving as Fred’s breath sawed in and out. Dazed, Morse let himself be pushed back, looked down through half lidded eyes as Fred kneeled with a grunt on the hard wooden floor, and pulled Morse’s fly down. A strong hand pulled his cock free, and within a few moments was jerking him roughly and firmly in a blissful rhythm that had Morse arching his back off the bed.

Through half slotted eyes Morse watched as Fred jerked him off, his eyes darting from Fred’s hand to his eyes, which were fixed firmly on the task at hand. Brown hair, streaked a little more liberally with grey than it had been a few months before, flopped into his eyes, and he licked his lips, tongue tip protruding.

At the sight Morse closed his eyes and licked his own lips, the taste of Fred’s cum and the firm grip of Fred’s hand bringing him to maximum, aching completion.

He sighed as Fred’s hand slid away, his hips still twitching with spasms of pleasure, and he watched through heavy lidded eyes as Fred tucked himself away and fastened his pants and belt. Morse pushed himself back up into a sitting position, and for a moment their eyes met. Morse wasn’t sure what was in his own eyes, but Fred’s were dark and deep. Warmth lit them, but there was a sadness too.

No regret, Morse thought, and clung to that. Fred again laid one hand on his shoulder and Morse lifted his face as Fred bent, laying a last gentle kiss upon his lips.

And then he was picking up his shirt and jacket, shrugging into them and lifting his hat from the table.

Still sitting on the side of the narrow bunk, Morse watched as he walked down the steps and disappeared into the darkness.

 

**Chapter Two – Love is Just a Merry Go Round.**

The next night, after the fair, Morse found a note outside the door of the dacha, inviting him to a party at Bix’s estate the following evening. He fingered the black satin mask folded in with the note, his mind a million miles away. Then his heart leapt in his chest at the soft crunch of wheels on the road, the swing of headlights momentarily illuminating the trees, the water, the path. 

Then silence as the engine switched off, and Morse found he was crushing the expensive note paper and satin mask in his hands as he waited. Finally the car door swung open and a familiar silhouette was outlined.

Heart singing, Morse opened the door and switched on the lamps. By the time he heard the heavy tread in the doorway, he had two glasses of whiskey poured. He clinked them together in a toast while Thursday tossed his hat on the little table, then he handed one over.

‘Thank you,’ Fred said, drinking it and putting the glass down. Morse sipped his and then laid the glass on the dresser. He held out his hand and Thursday studied it for a moment before reaching out and taking it.

‘I came to talk,’ Thursday protested as Morse led him to the bed.

‘We’ll talk after,’ Morse promised. He pushed the heavy coat off Thursday’s shoulders and down his arms, then tossed it over a chair back. Next his hands found the knot of his tie, but Thursday laid his hands over Morse’s, stopping him gently. 

‘This isn’t fair to you,’ he said.

Morse smiled. ‘Let me worry about that,’ he murmured, pulling the tie loose. He smiled into uncertain brown eyes, then tilted his face for a kiss. Fred’s eyes dropped to his lips and he sighed gently before obliging, strong hands coming up and gripping his waist. ‘This is all I thought about all day,’ Morse sighed as he lifted his chin and let Fred kiss his way down to his throat. 

‘You knew I’d come back,’ Fred murmured against his skin.

Morse gripped the nape of his neck, fondling his hair where it brushed the collar of his shirt. ‘No,’ Morse denied. ‘I just hoped.’ He leaned back, hands still holding tight. ‘Take me to bed?’

‘I don’t know how,’ Fred confessed. ‘Only what we already did.’

Morse smiled, his heart singing in his chest. ‘Let me show you,’ he invited huskily. He pulled off his own jacket and coat, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt. Fred watched him for a few moments, then slowly reached for his own buttons. 

“You smell like perfume,” Fred said suddenly.

Morse lifted a brow. ‘I’ve just had a beautiful model in my arms,’ he said. ‘But I left her to come here, hoping to find you waiting.’

Fred tossed his shirt aside and his hands found the buckle of his trousers. ‘Nothing beautiful here,’ he said awkwardly, and Morse wrapped his arms around his waist and smothered his mouth with his lips, urgently trying to convey his desperate want and need. Strong hands clutched at him as Fred groaned in his throat, returning the greedy kiss. 

‘You’re all I want,’ Morse promised. He dropped a line of kisses down Fred’s throat and around to his ear, careful not to suckle too hard and leave a mark. ‘I want you inside me,’ he whispered, and Fred’s hands tightened as he jerked. 

‘I’ve never…’ Fred said. 

‘Hurry,’ Morse urged, quickly stripping down to his skin, kicking his shoes aside and sitting down to wrench off his socks. He rummaged in the bedside drawer, found the tub of KY and tossed it on the bed.

Fred was running his gaze over him and Morse felt his skin pinken as he blushed. He wished he’d turned the lamp off and he looked at it, but Fred shook his head. 

‘No,’ he said, voice thick. ‘I want to look at you. I want to see.’ He pulled off his shirt and vest and Morse pushed away his modesty, a part of his mind convinced this might be the only chance he got to do this with the man he loved. He was determined to give Fred what he wanted, to make it perfect for him. Selfishly he wanted Fred to remember this night forever. He wanted it to haunt his dreams, to bring a dreamy smile to his face when it came back to him, to make his skin burn and his cock hard when he was back in his own bed. 

So Morse lay down on his side upon the soft coverlet, and picked up the tub of medical lubricant. Fred was sitting on the side of the bed, pulling off his shoes and socks, his eyes still fixed upon Morse’s nakedness. Boldly Morse scooped up a dollop of the slick and bent one knee forward, reaching around behind himself, smoothing the lube onto his anus.

Fred froze, eyes wide as Morse slitted his eyes, his cheeks pinkening as he pushed two fingers into his hole, spread the slick around the rim.

‘Christ,’ Fred said, eyes glazing. 

‘I need to get ready for you,’ Morse said, panting a little. He scooped out a little more lube and again pushed his fingers inside. ‘You’re big, and thick. But not too much,’ he said, scissoring his fingers a little. ‘I want to feel it. I want to be tight around you.’

Fred reached into his open pants and squeezed, swallowing hard. ‘Keep talking like that and I won’t make it inside you,’ he said hoarsely. He stood up shakily and pulled off his pants and briefs with a tug, kicking them towards the chair where his jacket lay. ‘How do I do this?’ he said, standing by the bed, his cock rock hard and jutting.

Morse rolled onto his back and pulled the pillow from beneath his head. ‘Put this under my hips,’ he ordered, arching off the bed. Fred fumbled it underneath him and Morse spread his legs, bending his knees, opening himself wide. ‘In me,’ he begged. ‘Please, Fred, I need you inside me.’

Fred kneeled next to Morse and then carefully lowered his weight on top of him, both of them groaning as they finally touched from head to toe, hot flushed skin to skin. Their hard cocks caressed, and Morse quickly reached between them and squeezed his own length. ‘Don’t let me hurt you,’ Fred said as he reared back, cock in hand, the blunt head finding Morse’s slick opening.

‘I won’t,’ Morse lied. It had been a long time for him, and he hadn’t really opened himself up much. It would hurt him, just a bit, but he hadn’t lied when he’d told Fred he wanted to feel it, he wanted Fred to feel it. What they were about to do didn’t even begin to compare with fucking a woman, and Morse wanted to wreck Fred for anyone else but him forever.

For such selfishness, Morse thought, he deserved a little pain. The blunt head probed and Fred pushed, his width forcing Morse open, a burning sting that had Morse throwing his head back with a groan.

‘I’m hurting you,’ Fred panted, but Morse wrapped long legs around his hips and held on tight. 

‘Don’t stop,’ he pleaded, hands grasping desperately at Fred’s upper arms. ‘Please, don’t stop.’

At this point it was clear Fred couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to, his hips were jerking and he was pushing his thick length in, slowly in, right into Morse, until they were once again pressed together, belly to belly. But now Morse was speared on Fred’s shaft, filled completely.

‘Wait, wait,’ Morse gasped, legs tightening, hands gripping like claws. His body adjusted, the burn faded and now he was left with just the echo of the ache, and the incredible sensation of being filled as he’d never been before. ‘Now,’ he said, running his hands up to the nape of Fred’s neck, feeling the slick of sweat on his skin. ‘Fuck me,’ he said.

And in this Fred needed no teacher. Sheer masculine instinct took over and he took Morse’s hips in his big hands and angled him just right, so his thrusts achieved maximum depth. Morse could only hold on for dear life as the wide cock grazed his prostate again and again, drawing forth a cry on every thrust. He forgot to worry about not marking Fred, he forgot to think about anything but the devilish cock inside him, filling him, pushing up into his soul and then withdrawing, leaving the ache of emptiness behind it. Fred’s hips pistoned and Morse forced his eyes open, wanting to see his face as they fucked. He found himself gazing into Fred’s eyes, realising with a burn of blush across his skin that Fred was watching him, had been watching his abandoned pleasure in being taken like this.

‘Mine,’ Fred gritted out through his teeth. ‘You’re mine now,’ he said, and Morse’s heart must have been connected to his cock, as they both swelled and erupted at the fierce, possessive growl. Morse spasmed with orgasm and his body tightened even more, drawing forth a bellow of pure masculine satisfaction from Fred as he pumped himself into Morse one last time and held him there, impaled on his cock as he came and came.

With a groan Fred collapsed on top of him, forcing the breath from Morse’s lungs. Panting under his weight Morse had no desire to protest, instead he pulled him even closer, luxuriating in the hot, sweaty, sticky body plastered against him. Regretfully Morse felt Fred’s softened cock gently eased out of him, and Fred was rolling onto his side, as far as the narrow bed would let him.

Morse sat up with a wince and shook out the folded coverlet from the end of the bed, draping it over their lower limbs, even though they were both still sweating and out of breath.

Fred’s hand stroked down his back as he arranged it, and Morse glanced over his shoulder with a smile. ‘I hurt you,’ Fred said regretfully.

Morse lay back down, curving against his side. ‘A little,’ Morse admitted. ‘A necessary pain.’ He smoothed his cheek over Fred’s broad shoulder, glad he’d taken the time to shave before going to the fair. ‘Sometimes love hurts, you know that.’

Fred pulled him closer, smoothing a hand down the line of his hip, fingers blunt and broad. Like his cock, Morse thought with a delicious shiver.

‘You never asked why,’ Fred said, fingers stroking back up, tugging the coverlet over them a little more as the cool night air teased in the open door. ‘Why I let this happen. Why I came back tonight.’

Morse laid a gentle hand on the scar on Fred’s chest, healed, but still raw and red. ‘I know why,’ he murmured. ‘It’s the same reason I told you I loved you. That I couldn’t live in the shadows any more. Sometimes your life passes before your eyes. Sometimes you reach a point where why doesn’t matter, you just have to do what feels right.’ He looked up into Fred’s face. ‘When you came here yesterday, that wasn’t the first time I’d seen you since I got out. I went to your house,’ he said when Fred frowned down at him curiously. ‘Stood in the dark. I could see you through the dining room window, sitting at the table with your family.’

‘You could have knocked,’ Fred said roughly. ‘You could have come in. You’d have been welcome.’

Morse looked away from those beloved eyes, back down to his hand where it still lay gently on the rough scar. ‘I wasn’t ready. Too… raw. Too angry. But I needed to see you, to put the nightmare to rest.’

‘The nightmare,’ Fred said grimly. ‘Of Blenheim Vale.’

Morse drew in a ragged breath. ‘The one where you never wake up. Where I call you and call you, but you’re still and cold under my hand.’

‘And I woke up in hospital wondering where you were, and no one would tell me. I thought you were dead,’ Fred admitted, nuzzling him, lips against Morse’s flushed skin. ‘When I found out you were in prison, they practically had to hold me down to stop me climbing out of my hospital bed and storming the place.’ He snorted. ‘Wasn’t hard, I was weak as a kitten.’ Fred pulled him closer as the night deepened around them. ‘I have to go,’ he murmured regretfully.

‘I know. But you’ll be back,’ Morse said.

‘Yes.’

 

**Chapter Three - To the Grave.**

'You’re the second person to mention that name to me tonight,' Bix said wryly. 'The other one was a policeman.'

'This one is too,' Morse said, watching his friend’s face carefully. 

Bix stared at him for a moment. 'Ah,' he said blankly. Then he finished his drink, grimacing as his cut lip stretched. 'Let’s take a walk.'

They strolled down to the jetty where the speed boat was moored, the night deepening around them as it did when dawn was just an hour or so away. 'I suppose that explains the trouble you were in, old man,' Bix said thoughtfully. 'Being a policeman can’t be easy for someone of your… inclinations.'

Morse frowned, slanting a glance at Bix’s somber profile. 'How’d you know?' he asked, his days of denial past him.

'I went for a walk last night, saw your lights on. Thought I’d pop in for a drink.'

Morse heaved a breath, wondering at which point Bix had arrived at the dacha.

'Don’t worry,' Bix assured him. 'As soon as I realised you had company I made myself scarce.'

'Did you see him?'

Bix paused at the end of the jetty and gazed across the darkened waters. 'You mean did I recognise him when he flashed a badge at me tonight?' Bix said wryly. 

Morse felt his heart sink. Two nights and already he’d put Thursday in danger.

'Don’t fret, old man,' Bix said kindly. 'We all have our secrets, yours will go with me to the grave, I promise. I have to say though…' He smiled, a bit wickedly. 'My own tastes don’t run that way, but I’m not blind. You’re a good looking young fellow, personable too. But you inamorata… He’s, well. Not exactly in the first flush of youth, is he?'

'Like a fine wine,' Morse said with an inward smile. 'Some things get better with age.'

'So you’re all right then?' Bix said, a bit awkwardly. 'I mean, he’s your boss, is he? Not… pressuring you? Be glad to help if you need it, old man.'

Morse smiled gratefully. 'You’re a good man, Joss Bixby,' he said warmly. 'No, he’s not pressuring me. Matter of fact, I rather think I seduced him, if you want the truth. I love him,' he said, amazed at being able to say the words aloud.

'Ah,' Bix said, staring at him quizzically. 'Well. The heart wants what it wants, I suppose.'

'Or else it does not care,' Morse quoted. 

'Will you come see me race tomorrow?' Bix asked.

Morse felt a pang of dread at the thought. He shook his head. 'I’ve seen enough death. Why are you doing it? For Kay?'

'To prove I’m a better man than Bruce,' Bix said with a shrugging smile. 

'You’re a hundred times the man he is,' Morse said, meaning it. 

Bix looked at him quizzically, then gave one of his beautiful smiles, his face lighting up. 'Thanks, old man,' he said, looking oddly shy. 

Morse extended his hand. 'Best of luck.'

'And to you. And to you, old man.'

Morse walked away, and the next time he saw Joss Bixby that beautiful smile was gone forever. 

 

**Chapter Four - No Real Magic In The World. Only Love.**

'I’m just stumbling around really,' Morse said.

'It’s what you’re best at.' Thursday unwrapped his sandwiches and took a bite. Morse watched him, heart warming at the familiar sight. He’d never thought to be back here again, talking about a case with Thursday, watching him eat his sandwiches and predicting each day’s fillings.

‘I need to find new lodgings,’ Morse said. ‘I can’t stay too much longer by the lake, the commute is too long.’

‘I can run you home tonight after work,’ Thursday said, licking a crumb from the corner of his mouth. ‘I’ll keep the car, save anyone picking me up tomorrow.’

Morse watched a pair of tourists pose in front of the Camera and take photos of each other. ‘And will you stay a while?’ he asked quietly. Thursday paused, laying his half eaten sandwich back on the paper. Morse braced himself for the worst.

‘Yes,’ Thursday said, and Morse darted him a surprised glance. ‘I’ll keep coming back, so long as you want me.’ He finished the sandwich in a few bites, quirking a smile at Morse around a mouthful. ‘Did you expect me to change my mind?’

‘I’m well beyond predicting what you’ll do,’ Morse said truthfully. ‘You constantly surprise me.’

Thursday huffed a laugh. ‘I’ve surprised myself,’ he admitted. ‘I’m not usually so selfish.’

Morse watched him carefully fold up the paper and pocket it. ‘It’s not selfish,’ he said quietly. ‘What we have doesn’t touch your other life. Can’t hurt… anyone else.’

‘I was thinking of you, actually,’ Thursday said, wiping at his lips with his hanky. ‘I’m taking advantage of you, and the way you feel about me. Putting you at risk too. Your career would be finished if it got out…’ He looked around and shrugged. ‘You know.’

‘You’re the one with everything to lose, sir,’ Morse said, automatically sticking to formality in this public place. ‘You’re the one with the wife and the family and the career. Me, I can pick up and leave any time I like, there’s nothing tying me here now but you.’

Thursday heaved a sigh. ‘I need a drink,’ he said, standing and brushing crumbs from his lap. He strolled towards the nearest pub and Morse fell into step beside him. ‘I don’t like you thinking of the job that way, Morse,’ he said conversationally, neatly side stepping a cyclist as they crossed the road. ‘You’ve got a great career ahead of you as a copper, with the chance to make a real difference in the world. It’s an insult to your own abilities to say you only stay in the job for me.’

Morse stuck his hands in his pockets as they strolled, considering Thursday’s words. ‘When you were talking about retiring, I was already planning to quit,’ he revealed. ‘Travel, work overseas. Australia, maybe.’

‘Australia?’ Thursday said incredulously. ‘What the hell would you do in Australia? You love Oxford, you love the music and the art and… and the pubs,’ he finished.

‘They have pubs in Australia,’ Morse said, chuckling at the outraged tone. 

‘Not like this,’ Thursday argued, pushing open the door and stepping into the dimness of the ancient establishment. The wooden floors creaked and were scented with centuries of spilled ale. The sun gleamed through lead light windows, dappling shades of gold and rose onto the scarred wooden tables. 

‘I dare say,’ Morse agreed. In the distance the bells chimed the half hour and Morse tilted his head and listened as Thursday settled into their usual booth. ‘I’d miss the bells of Oxford,’ he admitted. 

‘And you’d miss being a proper copper,’ Thursday said firmly. ‘Two halves,’ he said, and Morse went to fetch them.

‘It’s a moot point anyway,’ Morse said, depositing the drinks on the table and taking his place next to Thursday. He smiled contentedly, breathing in his lover’s scent as he sipped his ale. ‘I’m not going anywhere now.’

‘No crossword today?’

Morse smiled into his glass. ‘I’m out of practise.’

 

**Chapter Four – Smoke and Mirrors**

Fred was on top of him, strong, broad hands holding Morse’s hands flat on the bed by his sides as he ravaged the younger man’s mouth. Possessive kisses, tongue stroking deep. Small, suckling kisses, first Morse’s top lip then the bottom. Thirsty kisses on his cheeks, his chin, beneath his ear, his throat, as Morse threw his head back and moaned.

‘Want you,’ Fred growled, in that voice that went straight to Morse’s cock. 

‘Please,’ Morse panted, wriggling free and fumbling for his bedside drawer. He pulled out the lube and thrust it at Fred. ‘Like this?’ he invited, rolling over onto his belly. ‘With me on my knees? You can get deeper that way.’

‘Morse,’ Fred said, rolling him gently back over. ‘No.’

Morse blinked at him, worried that he’d done something wrong. ‘You don’t want me like that again?’

Fred smiled and stroked his blunt fingers through Morse’s hair. ‘Of course I do,’ he said. He pressed against Morse’s side, his cock wet and hard against him. ‘But I hurt you the other night, and you must still be tender today.’

‘It’s fine,’ Morse dismissed.

‘No, it’s not.’ Fred leaned over and kissed him. ‘We can wait until you’re not sore, and now I know what to do I won’t hurt you again. I’ll take more time.’

Morse stroked his hand up Fred’s arm, delighting in the intimacy of being able to touch him like this, the feel of his warm, yielding flesh under his hand. ‘And you wonder why I love you,’ he murmured, lifting his chin, inviting another kiss. 

Fred obliged, and then reached for Morse’s stiff cock with his big hand. ‘And when I do take you like that again, it won’t be from behind. I love to look at your face when you come,’ he murmured, gently pumping as Morse arched into his touch. ‘I love how you look when I do this,’ he said, wickedly firming his grip and pumping harder.

‘Fred,’ Morse gasped, then groaned as Fred leaned over and engulfed one flat nipple in his mouth, sucking a little and then biting down gently. ’Fred!’

‘I love how sensitive you are here,’ Fred growled, finding the other nipple and suckling hard. His pumping hand sped up and Morse caught his upper arm, his fingers biting into the muscle. ‘Can’t wait to be inside you again,’ Fred whispered into his ear, and Morse bucked underneath him and spurted into his hand and up onto his belly. Fred chuckled, gently easing his grip, still stroking as Morse’s cock jerked and burbled the last drop of cum.

‘Perfect,’ Fred breathed, lifting his hand and licking the slickness from his fingers. Morse could only stare wide eyed as Fred tasted his essence curiously, then pressed his broad finger to Morse’s own lips. ‘Taste yourself,’ he ordered thickly, and Morse ran his tongue over Fred’s finger before sucking it in. He caught Fred’s eyes with his own as he bobbed up and down on it, then pulled his lips away with a sucking slurp.

‘Fuck,’ Fred said, his own eyes wide. ‘What you do to me.’

‘Can I suck you?’ Morse said, licking his lips slowly.

Fred panted. ‘What do you think?’

888

Fred was a cuddler after sex, and Morse, who’d thought he couldn’t possibly love the man more, felt his heart overflow. They lay on their sides in the narrow bed, gazing at each other, hands leisurely roaming and stroking.

‘You were right about why I let this happen,’ Fred murmured sleepily. ‘Why I gave in to something I didn’t even have a name for, when you told me you loved me.’ 

Morse tenderly stroked a wing of hair back behind Fred’s ear. 

‘I was inches from death,’ Fred whispered. ‘And when I do lie on my death bed, I don’t want to mourn the things I didn’t do. I didn’t want to leave this world without kissing you. Sucking on that top lip that drives me crazy. Stroking every inch of your body. Running my fingers through your curls.’

‘They’re waves,’ Morse said automatically.

‘They’re curls, love,’ Fred chuckled. ‘I didn’t want to go without being inside you,’ he whispered, lips against Morse’s ear.

‘When?’ Morse demanded breathlessly. ‘When did you want those things?’

‘When I knew you did. When you said you loved me, when you made me believe it, it’s like my heart grew three sizes in my chest. And I realised it was possible.’

Despite themselves they slept, and it was well past midnight when Morse woke with a start and fumbled for his watch. ‘Fred,’ he said urgently, scrambling out of bed. ‘It’s late, your wife will be frantic.’

Fred grunted as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rubbing his face. He rumbled a cough, and then to Morse’s horror he went into a paroxysm of coughing, hand over his mouth, other hand clenched in the tumbled bedding as he heaved and choked. 

Morse fumbled for a handkerchief and crouched naked beside him, one hand gripping his shoulder as the coughs shook his too thin frame. Fred coughed until tears stood in his eyes, and then accepted the hanky Morse pressed upon him, wiping at his lips and chin. 

He looked up, his reddened eyes meeting Morse’s. ‘It’s all right,’ he said huskily, then cleared his throat. ‘It’s just the night air.’

Morse took the hanky from his hand and carefully dabbed at a corner of Fred’s lips, pulling it back to reveal a bright drop of red marring its snowy white. He felt tears start in his own eyes and he blinked them away, just reaching out and wrapping his arms around Fred’s shoulders, holding him close.

Fred didn’t protest, or tell Morse again that everything was all right. He just let Morse hold him for a while, before getting up and slowly getting dressed. At the door to the dacha he kissed him once, gently, and then Morse watched him drive away, all the happiness in his heart turning to stone.

He’d known somehow, that it was all too good to be true.

888

Thursday and Morse strolled through the churchyard, leaving the various members of the funeral party behind them, Kay, the love of Bix’s life, conspicuous by her absence.

‘I know he was a liar, and a fraud, and he broke the rules,’ Morse said sadly. ‘But he did it all to be with the person he loved. I can relate to that.’

‘Yes,’ Fred agreed. ‘So can I.’ He stopped by an old gravestone and gazed down at the worn letters carved upon it. ‘Morse,’ he said slowly.

‘Don’t,’ Morse said. ‘Don’t say anything right now, please. Don’t tell me you’re making an end to us. Don’t promise me a beginning.’

Thursday stared at him solemnly through the golden afternoon sunshine.

‘You know where I am,’ Morse said. ‘And where I’ll be, if you want me. There’ll always be a light on for you, my love. Because Zambezi was right. There’s no real magic in this world. Only love. The rest is just smoke and mirrors.’

Fred seemed to think about that for a few moments, then he nodded and gave him a gentle smile. ‘Back to work then?’ he said, putting on his hat and tilting the brim.

‘Back to work,’ Morse agreed.

The End


End file.
